Should Have Stayed In Bed
by susieq666
Summary: You know those days when you really should have stayed in bed? Even Horatio has them, now and again. This isn't much of a story - I'm a bit out of ideas at the moment - but I was driving over flooded roads the other day, thinking about Horatio... Anyway, thought I'd share it.
1. Chapter 1

SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED

Chapter 1

It was raining as Horatio headed for work. It suited his mood. He felt so rough he debated turning round and going home. The cough/cold he had had for a couple of days was turning rapidly into something worse. He felt feverish, vaguely sick. His head ached and his joints were sore. Hardly surprising… Half the lab was down with flu. The rain increased and he switched the wipers to 'fast'. Well, perhaps he could leave work early… He thought about the comfortable bed he had just left. Then he thought about the current case load, the number of absentees, and decided an early night was unlikely.

He glanced at the clock on the dash. He was late. He put his foot down.

He felt the skid start, the car hydroplaning. He cursed himself, took his foot off the throttle, resisted the urge to touch the brakes. Rode it… waiting for the tires to bite. It took a lot to make the Lexus skid – it had every kind of traction control and safety feature. He knew he'd been driving like an idiot. The car jinked and side-swiped the central barrier. He heard the expensive crunch of metal, but the vehicle found traction. Too much, even for its sophisticated mechanics, with only one wheel on the rough surface. It hit the barrier again, firing the airbags.

He was temporarily stunned, but distantly conscious of the car veering across three lanes, before overturning at the side of the road.

The engine was still running… roaring… Stiffly, he reached over and switched it off. Everything became oddly silent, but for the sound of the rain. He shook his head, trying to clear it – mistake – a jagged headache, which, admittedly, he'd had before the accident. He became aware of something dripping on him and looked up. He was looking up through the driver's window, which was smashed. The car was resting on the passenger side. And it was still raining. He sensed he wasn't badly hurt. He was held in an uncomfortable position by the seat belt, on his right side, wedged against the central console, and not sure how to get out. He reached up to open the door, but it was jammed. He went to brace himself with his right hand and gasped with pain. Not badly hurt… but a broken right arm, he thought. He toyed with releasing the seat belt, but couldn't face the crash down to the passenger side which would follow.

A face loomed over him.

"Jesus, buddy… That truck missed you by inches!"

He hadn't been aware of a truck. He tried to speak, and coughed instead.

"Are you okay? No, silly question. You can't be."

"I am." His voice was a hoarse whisper – nothing to do with the accident. "Don't think I can get out though."

"I've called the emergency services."

He wanted to say it wasn't necessary, but maybe it was. A wave of dizziness swept him. "Okay. Thank you."

His rescuer caught sight of his badge. "You're a cop?"

"Yeah. Embarrassing, eh?"

There was the sound of sirens, and within seconds he was surrounded by police, then, minutes later, by paramedics.

He tried to put some authority into his voice. "I'm not hurt – just a broken arm, I think… Can you get the door open?"

They tried, but failed. Then one of the police officers had more success with the back door. He heard them talking among themselves, excluding him. _We could let the seat back… Slide him out backwards… Need to support him from underneath… No, don't move him… His back might be injured… _And someone, more firmly… _We need to do something quickly, before he goes into shock._

He felt impotent. He was shivering, as the relentless rain soaked through his clothes, but it wasn't shock. Yet. Just cold, coupled with fever. He twisted in the seat, testing his back, ignoring commands to stay still.

"I'm really not hurt. Just pull me out."

He heard one of the policemen say, "That's Lieutenant Caine, from the Crime Lab."

"Who's that?"

A Hispanic face appeared, one he vaguely recognised. "Santangelo, Sir. What do you want me to do?"

He forced a smile. "Tell these guys I'm okay to be pulled out."

The young man returned the smile, and nodded. He could hear the muttered conversation in the background. He wondered if he could reach the seat belt latch – risk the fall. At least get things moving.

A paramedic leant over him. "All right, Sir… Someone's going to squeeze under you and take your weight. We'll lower the seat, and get a board under you. You just lie still, and let us do the work. Won't take long." In the background, he heard someone murmur, '_If it doesn't work, the Fire Department will have to take the car apart.'_

He closed his eyes against the growing headache, and let them work. It went smoothly. Someone managed to climb through to the passenger side and support him. There was still a jolt as the seat belt loosened and he yelped as his right arm crunched against the center console.

"It's all right," he said quickly, as his rescuers froze. "Just my arm."

They carefully lowered the seat back, and maneuvered him out through the back door. In the event, there was no room for a back board, and he found himself, surprisingly, on his feet, leaning on his wrecked car.

They were worried about the breach of protocol… Immediately felt his neck, and spine. "Any tingling? Numbness?"

"Really okay…" he said quickly. "Few bruises, nothing worse."

"Let's get you in the ambulance, before we all drown."

He found, to his disgust, that he was too shaky to walk unaided, and allowed himself to be helped into the waiting ambulance. Santangelo was hovering, as if protecting a fellow police officer. Horatio nodded to him.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Will you take my gun and badge…? To the Crime Lab? I don't want the hospital to…" He almost said 'lose them'. "To have to look after them." He glanced at the paramedic. "No offense. Can you take them off for me?"

The man took them carefully off his belt and handed them to Santangelo.

"Find Eric Delko – tell him what's happened." He forced a smile. "And tell him I'm all right." He broke off, coughing.

"Is your chest hurt?" The paramedic frowned.

"No, I've got flu. Nothing to do with the wreck."

The man nodded. "I'm just going to support your arm, and then let the hospital look after you. I don't think you're going to die on me. Lie down though. More comfortable while we're travelling."

Horatio did so, huddling gratefully under the blanket that was tucked round him. He was shaking badly, and unsure how much was shock. He felt terrible, but he hadn't felt good before the crash, and now he was wet and cold too. His head was splitting, and he wondered if he'd cracked it on the car roof – not hard, obviously – he hadn't been knocked out. And his face was stinging – from the airbag presumably. He closed his eyes, as the vehicle moved off.

* * *

"Someone to see you, Eric…"

Eric Delko looked up, surprised to see a rather damp police officer, whom he recognised from Frank Tripp's department.

"Santangelo, Sir. I was asked to give you these…" He held out the badge and gun.

"Horatio's? Why? How?"

"He's had a car wreck. I was one of the first on the scene."

"Dear God! How bad?"

"Not too bad, I think. They're taking him to hospital, but he says he's just got a broken arm. He wanted his things kept safe."

"Has he? Just got a broken arm?"

"Well, he was… er… protesting about the fuss…"

"That's Horatio…"

"And he was on his feet… Kind of… He looked pretty shaken up, to be truthful."

"Okay. Thank you. Dade Memorial? I'll go and find him." Eric reached for his coat. "Where's the car?"

"On its way to the scrapyard, by now."

"Write-off?"

"I'd say so. It rolled, so the roof's bent."

Eric chuckled. "He'll be pissed. What about the accident? Whose fault?"

"Only him involved. He skidded, I gather. Flipped it. It was raining hard."

It was still raining hard, as Eric drove to the hospital. He was surprised at what Santangelo had said. Horatio was a good, if fast, driver. And his car was highly rated, safety-wise. Still, anyone could have a lapse in concentration. Or maybe he'd been avoiding something in the road. As long as he wasn't badly hurt…

The traffic had slowed, backed up by another accident, and it took him nearly an hour to reach the hospital. He parked and walked into the ER.

"Horatio Caine?" He showed his badge, which usually stopped any arguments.

"He's gone for X-rays. Shouldn't be long. I'll let you know when he's back."

"Tell him I'm here. Eric…"

He waited restlessly for ten minutes, before they fetched him. Horatio was just easing himself onto a bed. His jacket lay across the foot of the bed, and his shirt sleeve had been cut, revealing a temporary bandage on his lower right arm. His hair and clothes were soaked. His face was ashen, apart from an airbag burn on one cheek. And he was shivering.

He flashed a wan smile at his colleague. "What a mess…" The voice was a husky whisper.

"God, you sound rough."

"He is." A doctor came into the cubicle. "He tells me he's got flu. Hence a fever and a respiratory infection. Quite apart from the accident damage."

"Yeah, we've all had flu." Eric looked at Horatio. "You should have stayed at home."

"I _know_ that, now."

"So what's the damage, doctor?"

"Well, broken arm – nasty open fracture near the elbow. We're going to have to operate on it. Mild concussion. Airbag burn. Lots of bruising. You got off lightly."

"If you say so," Horatio muttered. "Can't say it feels like it."

"Better than the car, I gather. Write-off…" Eric put in.

"Damn." He broke off, coughing.

The doctor said sympathetically, "I can't give you anything to ease the flu symptoms yet. Nor pain relief, until we know when we're operating. Will you be okay while I go and see if we've got a slot today?"

"I'm fine."

The doctor left, and Eric sat down. "What on earth happened?"

"Nothing. I was driving too fast in the rain. Not concentrating. It hydroplaned. I feel like a fool."

"Don't. Accidents happen. Do you want me to do anything?"

"Yes. Find the car, and get any stuff out of it. I don't think there's much… but my leather jacket's in there, I think."

"Will do. What else? Fresh clothes?"

"If you don't mind. Take my keys." He gestured towards his jacket. "God, my head hurts."

"Not your arm?"

"Not a lot, really. Wish they could just put a cast on it, but apparently the break's too near the elbow."

"Let them do what they want. It's your shooting arm, among other things."

Horatio raised his eyebrows, then said, "I can shoot left-handed… Not all that well. And my writing's illegible." He smiled weakly. "Oh Eric, what a screw-up!"

"Come on, it could be a lot worse. Look, I'll let you rest… Go and see about things."

The doctor came back. "We can do you this afternoon. I've spoken to my orthopedic colleague and he thinks a metal plate's the best option." He smiled. "Don't look so horrified. It's better. No cast, so you can use the arm almost straight away. It'll be weak, but not for long. I told you you were lucky."

Eric got up. "What time shall I come back?"

"Fiveish?"

He walked out with the doctor. "He's really okay?"

"Yes. It's the flu that's knocking him out. It'll be a bit tricky putting him under with his breathing bad, and a fever, but we can't leave the arm while he gets better. Once he's over the anesthetic, we can make him feel better. Don't worry – he'll be fine."

Eric nodded. "Look after him."


	2. Chapter 2

SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED

Chapter 2

Eric went to do the chores for Horatio and was glad the rain was easing. A call to PD located the car, currently on its way to a scrapyard. It would be held there until released, in case an examination of it was needed. In theory there was no hurry, but it was well known that the contents of wrecked vehicles tended to 'disappear'. Eric arrived just as the recovery vehicle pulled in. He felt an odd pang of sorrow that the sleek white car was now just so much broken metal. And a surge of relief – Horatio _had _been lucky.

He quickly retrieved a leather jacket and few other odds and ends from the car.

"You releasing it?" the yard owner asked.

"Not yet. The insurers might want to see it. I'll release it as soon as I can."

"How's the driver?"

"Not too bad." He realised that the man was wondering why the police were involved so quickly. "He's a cop – a friend."

"Difficult to roll a Lexus." A veiled criticism…

Eric scowled. "I don't know the details." He walked away.

He drove to Horatio's condo, and collected jeans and sweatshirt – he suspected he'd be in trouble for not bringing work clothes, but he also knew he would insist, as far as he could, on his boss taking a day or two off. The condo showed signs of a sick occupant – the bed unmade, a packet of Tylenol on the nightstand. Eric tidied it quickly, then headed back to work.

Just before five, he returned to the hospital. He had some trouble locating his boss, now in a private room on the fifth floor. As he jogged along the corridor to Room 530, he bumped into a doctor he hadn't met, just coming out.

"You're Eric? He said you'd be along. Doctor Fraser – orthopod." He introduced himself.

"Eric Delko. How is he?"

"All right. At least, his arm is – we put a lot of metal in it, but it'll be good as new, in time." He hesitated.

"What?"

"Nothing serious. He's just not very well. And he took the anesthetic badly."

"What's that mean?"

"Oh, he feels ill, but he's got a nasty dose of flu to complicate things. And he didn't come out of the anesthetic particularly quickly. He hallucinated – it's not that unusual… About ten per cent of patients have some degree of it. It doesn't last. Go and see him – just don't expect too much - he's not very bright."

Horatio seemed barely awake, the blue eyes hazy.

"Hello, boss." Eric sat down. "How're you doing?"

"I want to go home." It was the petulant murmur of a fractious child.

Eric swallowed a smile. "Give it a few hours, big man… You're only just out of surgery."

"I saw Marisol."

"Did you?" Eric wasn't surprised. It had happened before. "What did she say?"

He moved his head slowly. "Don't know… I think she said I was driving too fast." The unfocussed eyes closed.

Eric sat watching him. He was wearing a hospital gown now – and at least he looked dry and warm. His right arm was encased in a tubular bandage, extending above the elbow. The burn on his face had darkened, and there was a bruise visible on the side of his neck, probably from the seat belt.

Eric got quietly to his feet, and investigated the bedside locker. He retrieved a still-damp suit, the damaged shirt, and the rest of Horatio's clothes. He replaced them with the things he'd brought with him, tucking cell phone and wallet out of sight, and rolling the rest into a bundle to take away.

"What are you doing?"

He found Horatio watching him. "Just taking your dirty clothes. Horatio… do me a favor – don't go anywhere until I come back for you."

"Okay." He closed his eyes again.

Eric chuckled. "You're being very compliant."

"I'm trying not to vomit," he murmured.

"Well, warn me – I'll get out of the way." Eric teased him gently.

"It's not funny…"

"No, I don't suppose it is."

Eric sat down again and watched him. Horatio was obviously beyond any sensible conversation, but Eric kept him company for half an hour or so. Finally, he stood up.

He squeezed his shoulder gently. "I'm going. I'll be in tomorrow."

"Okay…"

Eric smiled sympathetically. "You'll feel better soon."

"If you say so…"

Eric sat in his car, and emptied the pockets of the suit – all sorts of minor paraphernalia… And sunglasses. Eric smiled to himself, glancing at the dark threatening sky. He stowed everything in the glove box. The shirt was ruined and blood-stained, but the suit seemed intact. He started the car and drove home, via a dry cleaner.

* * *

As Eric drove into the lab next morning, he was relieved to see Calleigh's car in the parking lot. She had been off for three days, and they were desperately short-handed. It was good of her to come in on a Saturday – the temptation to leave it till Monday must have been great.

She was, as usual, in the ballistics lab.

"Am I glad to see you!" Eric said. "Feel better?"

"Oh, a bit washed out… You know…" But her smile was dazzling, her make-up perfect. "There's a huge backlog in here… Has it been very hectic?"

He chuckled. "Very. And Horatio's put himself in hospital."

"What?" Her smile vanished. "What happened?"

"Car wreck. Yesterday. Hey, it's okay, not serious. I can probably collect him today."

"But he's a great driver…"

"Not yesterday, he wasn't. Skidded in the wet. Oh, and he's got the flu. So… one very unhappy man…"

"But not hurt?"

"Broken arm. Knocked about a bit… Wrote the car off."

"Oh, poor man…"

"Yeah. I should call him – see if he wants collecting."

He phoned, got no answer, but Horatio rang back a few minutes later.

"Sorry, Eric – I heard it ringing… Couldn't find it in time…"

"How are you?"

"Not sure. They want me to stay in another day, but I think I'm good to go."

"Why do they want you to stay in?" Eric had been expecting him to be impatient and raring to go. He didn't sound it.

"Oh… concussion, I think… I'm a bit dizzy… Nothing serious. My arm's fine."

"You've still got the flu though." He could hear it in the voice.

"Yes, but it's not too bad. I'd rather nurse it at home. You coming in?"

"Willingly, but if they want you to stay…" Eric hesitated. "Compromise? We've got a hell of a lot of work. Suppose I collect you this evening?"

"I could get a cab, if you're busy."

"That isn't what I meant! I'll come, but I think you should stay there a bit longer…"

"Good God, you sound like my doctor!" _Now_ he sounded impatient. "I want to go home. Look, don't bother if you're busy."

Eric sighed. "Oh, H…. I'm on my way." He closed his phone.

Calleigh raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"They want him to stay in. He doesn't want to. And if I don't go, he'll just discharge himself. Stubborn man!"

Calleigh smiled ruefully. "He always has been. Go on, you'd better go – make sure he gets home. I'll look after things here."

Fuming, Eric headed for the hospital. As he did so, his cell bleeped. "Delko…"

"Eric, I'm sorry…" Horatio's voice was hoarse. "I had no right to do that… Come this evening."

"I'm halfway there now."

"I'm really sorry – I'm just… frustrated. You know how I hate being laid up. But that's no excuse to expect you to run round after me."

"I'll see you in ten minutes or so." Eric very rarely lost patience with his boss – he loved him dearly – but this was one of those times. It wasn't that Horatio was thoughtless by nature. Far from it. What he did have was a belief that he was immune to things that would bring down a lesser person. So lying in hospital for a day, if he felt well enough to function, went against the grain. No doubt he would have been quite willing to take a cab…

This time, Eric approached Horatio's room slowly. He was still annoyed. Why, he wasn't sure – he could have left his boss to his own devices. He hadn't really been 'summoned'. But deep down, he acknowledged that if there was the slightest risk to Horatio, he – Eric – would come running.

Horatio was sitting on the bed, leaning back on the pillows. He was dressed, his arm in a sling, and he looked pale, far from well.

"Eric, I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter. I'm here now. How do you feel? Honestly?"

There was a wan smile. "Honestly? Well… okay to go, I think…"

"If I take you home, will you be all right? I can't stay, you know."

"Have I asked you to?"

Eric shook his head. "You worry me…"

"I'll go to bed. Get some sleep – I can't sleep in this place."

"Come on then. Do they know you're leaving?"

"Yes. My doctor… er… made his feelings known." He chuckled.

Eric held out an arm and Horatio got to his feet with a deep groan. Eric raised his eyebrows.

"I'm stiff."

"Not surprised – that's what being thrown around in a car does for you." They walked together along the corridor. Whatever he said, Eric had little doubt that Horatio was finding it difficult - he wasn't quite walking in a straight line. "Don't you dare fall over…"

"I won't."

"You're crazy."

"That's not very respectful."

"How can I be respectful of someone who won't stay home when he's got the flu, who writes off his car, who takes no notice of his doctor…" Eric wasn't really nagging, rather trying to keep his boss's mind off the fairly long walk to the hospital parking lot. "Still sure about this?"

"I am."

He staggered only once, near the hospital entrance, and grabbed Eric's arm.

Eric said quickly, "Sit down. I'll bring the car to the door."

Horatio didn't argue, falling into the nearest chair. Eric cast a worried glance at him, then sprinted to the Hummer and drove it into the pick-up zone in front of the main doors.

As he approached him, Horatio smiled. "I'm all right. Bit dizzy, that's all. Don't have a go at me."

"Not going to."

They made it into the Hummer, and Eric drove off. Horatio murmured, "That's better… Freedom…" At Eric's look, he added, "I hate hospitals."

Eric chuckled. "Don't suppose they're that keen on you either."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED

Chapter 3

Horatio closed the door behind him, walked straight into the bedroom, stripped off – managing his injured arm with some difficulty, and crawled into bed, feeling sick, sore and dizzy. He hated himself. Eric hadn't deserved his unrestrained impatience. Yet, he'd still come… _I__ would have told me where to go…_ He ached all over; the effect of the crash, plus flu. He knew he should have stayed in hospital – at least they dished out regular pain killers… Now he'd have to suffer at home, and it was all his own fault. He wondered, briefly, where this dislike of hospitals came from. Or maybe it was just being fussed over that he hated. And being less than one hundred per cent fit. He knew it was a quirk of his nature that was unlikely to change – the need to prove himself tougher, more resilient, than everybody else. He sighed and closed his eyes…

He slept heavily for a few hours, and awoke groggy and disoriented. He assumed it was a residual effect of having been anesthetized. He got unsteadily to his feet, determined to shake it off, pulled on a bathrobe, and staggered into the bathroom. He examined his reflection – pale, the healing burn, bruises everywhere… a complete wreck, really… And he was so dizzy… He scowled at himself, drew a deep breath, swallowed two Tylenol and walked into the living room.

* * *

Eric returned to the lab consumed by thoughts of Horatio. Or rather, his interaction with him. On the one hand, he felt Horatio had been unfair. On the other, he knew he himself had been impatient, and downright insolent to him. The man was, after all, his boss. True, they were brothers-in-law, and close, but even so… He rather wished he could rewind, and play this morning differently. He had left Horatio at his condo, with his boss saying he was going to bed, but he hadn't even gone inside with him…

Now, at the lab, he was conscious of work backed up. Of things running less than smoothly. He went to find Calleigh.

She looked up. "Is he okay?"

"I think so. At his uncooperative worst… I can't handle him when he's like that."

Calleigh burst out laughing. "No one 'handles' Horatio. You should know that, after all this time."

"I do. It's just… Oh, I don't know!"

"You want to look after him, and he won't let you. Believe me, I know – I've been there. Actually, he lets you closer than anyone, probably because you're family."

"I suppose. Anyway, he's at home. He's got neither car, badge, gun, nor house keys – because I forgot they were in my pocket. So I don't suppose he's going anywhere."

"Well, we are. Report of a shooting's just come in."

"As if we didn't have enough to do."

"Eric…" She touched his arm gently. "It's no one's fault that everyone's been off sick. Come on, we'll take it as it comes. We'll get through it all, eventually. We can only do what we can do." She chuckled. "I was just talking to Sara in the State Attorney's office – apparently the flu epidemic's reached them too, so we won't be leant on." She squeezed his arm. "And stop brooding about the boss."

"You're right." He flashed her a smile. "I'm glad you're back."

"Well, I toyed with staying out till Monday… but I figured you'd be missing me."

The day passed far too quickly. There was just so much to do… Eric found he had no time to 'brood', and it was after seven when he finally headed back to Horatio's. He collected some take-out, though he doubted his boss was going to be hungry. He used the keys, but called Horatio's name as he entered.

"Living room…" The voice was still croaky.

Horatio was lying on the sofa, bathrobe-clad, reading. Or not…

"I can't keep my eyes focussed – it gives me a headache," he muttered, tossing the book aside. "How's work?"

"Busy. But nothing you need to think about." Eric hesitated. "Look, this morning… I was a bit short with you…"

"And I was unreasonable. I don't think we need apologize to each other, do we, Eric?"

Eric smiled. "No, we don't. You hungry?"

"Not really."

"Mind if I eat?" Eric put out two plates anyway, in case, but it was clear Horatio had no appetite. "Still feel sick?"

Horatio shrugged and winced at obvious stiffness. "Not really. Just… not very hungry… Sorry."

"No worries. Can I do anything for you?"

"No, I don't think so. You could keep me company for a while – I'm bored."

"I thought you were going to bed."

"I did." He gestured to the bathrobe. "But…" He chuckled, "I _could_ have a really good moan about how everything hurts… Then you could have a moan about me not staying in hospital… Or we could just skip the conversation."

Eric laughed. "We could. How's the dizziness?"

"Still there. Unfortunately."

"It's Sunday tomorrow, so you've got a day at least…"

"Aren't you backlogged? We could do a Sunday shift."

"Don't even think about it, H!"

"How many cases still open?"

"A lot. But that's my problem, and Calleigh's."

"She's back?"

"Yes. She sends her love."

He nodded, then massaged his temples, falling silent.

Eric said cautiously, "Horatio… Are you going to be sensible about this?"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning… am I going to have to fight you every day to get you to take sick leave?"

"Eric, if I'm sick, I'll take sick leave. If I'm not, I'll come in. I'm not going to fight about it. I know best, after all."

"Not always. I'm one of the few who's seen you push it too far."

He looked away. "Yeah, well… That was embarrassing."

"It was also life threatening. _Please_ don't do it again."

"You see? This is what I hate! Exaggeration." He sat forward, looking annoyed. "This is hardly like a bullet wound. _Mild_ flu. _Mild_ concussion."

"General anesthetic. Broken arm…"

"Which is usable. Eric, I appreciate what you're doing, but do not nursemaid me!"

"Wouldn't dare. I just… Well, I care about you."

His expression softened. "I know you do."

"God knows, I don't want to fight with you. Look at it logically – if you're dizzy, even if you sit in the office or the lab, you can't _do_ anything. Your arm may be mending, but you can't shoot. Or drive."

"I can probably drive."

"A Hummer?"

"Well, maybe not. So what do you expect me to do?"

"Just be honest about how you feel. To me, at least. If_… if…_ you're not dizzy by Monday, then I'll collect you and take you to work. If it gives you a headache, or you start to feel ill, find me, and I'll drive you home. Yes, we are backlogged, but I think a few people will be back in on Monday, and we'll manage."

Horatio struggled to his feet, bringing the conversation to an end. "Coffee?"

Eric watched him. He was clearly stiff and sore – moving like an old man – but there seemed no point in arguing further. With Horatio in the kitchen, Eric stood up and wandered round the room. The big windows to the balcony were closed, the wind still high and the sky gray. Depressing… He walked over to the bookshelves, intrigued, as always, by Horatio's tastes in reading matter. Scientific textbooks, certainly, but also 'famous' novels – well, famous enough for Eric to have heard of, but never read – and poetry.

Horatio came back in.

"Do you actually read poetry?" Eric asked, flicking through a slim volume.

"Don't you?" The tone was amused

"Certainly not."

"Philistine…" It was said with such affection that Eric laughed and turned round.

He came back to sit down. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that the two of them actually had very little in common, apart from work. Nearly twenty years apart in age. Off-duty, Eric went diving and played sports. Horatio… well, no one quite knew what Horatio did. It didn't seem to matter – they were as close as if they shared blood.

Now, drinking coffee, they returned to the subject of work.

"New cases?" Horatio asked.

"Only one – this morning. Domestic. A shooting."

"Husband shot wife?"

"No, other way round. It seems cut and dried."

"Confession?"

"Only circumstantially." Eric outlined the case. "She won't say a word. I mean, not one word."

"Perhaps it's shock."

"Well, she's in County lock-up. You could have a go at her… if you're well enough."

"Sounds suitably… untaxing."

"So… I'll drop in tomorrow? See how you are?"

Horatio nodded, and followed him to the door.

"Eric… I know I've been a pain in the ass…"

Eric laughed. "I wouldn't go that far. Hey, brother, I understand. Just take it easy, okay?" He went out, then pushed the door open again and stuck his head round. "Anyway, I'm used to you."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED

Chapter 4

By Sunday morning, Miami's weather had restored itself to warmth and sunshine. And Horatio had slept well. He sat on the edge of the bed, considering how he felt. Not dizzy, yet – well, his vision wasn't swimming. He ached – a little. He still felt a peculiar dull heaviness which he realised was an anesthetic hangover – he had read that it stayed in the system for weeks. But… not too bad. And the flu symptoms seemed almost to have gone.

Carefully, he investigated the bandage on his arm, peeling it down a little. Underneath, a waterproof dressing covered a long surgical scar, extending over his elbow and a third of the way down his forearm. He felt it gently and could just discern twenty or thirty surgical staples holding it together. None of it really hurt, but the elbow didn't bend properly, and, overall, it was weak. But, as the doctor had said, better than a cast.

The dressing looked completely waterproof, so he rolled the bandage off, stood up, and walked into the bathroom to turn the shower on. It proved surprisingly difficult to wash his hair, and to shave, left-handed, but he felt restored. He opened the balcony doors to test the temperature. Warm… Pulling on just a pair of shorts, he made breakfast and went outside – the balcony stayed in shade till the afternoon, so he was not risking sunburn - sat down, and ate the first food he'd had in two days. The first food he could swallow without feeling like throwing up. Then he lay back, gazing at a sparkling ocean, and relaxed. He realised that was a first too, since the crash. He hadn't really been aware of the tension in him, but it had clearly been there – the disagreements with the doctors, snapping and snarling at Eric, the inability to read comfortably, or watch TV. Even the thought of work piling up at the lab. All in all, a feeling of life pressing down on him. Now he relaxed… and felt better for it.

After a while, he went back inside, and, with his skin completely dry, managed to roll the bandage back into place, protecting the fragile wound. He fetched his laptop and went back to his seat on the balcony.

He accessed his insurance company's website to make a claim for his poor smashed car. It could all be done on-line, although it wasn't, he found, a particularly well-thought-out process. It took best part of an hour. Longer, as he moved into the area of getting a temporary replacement. After nearly two hours, he had the assurance that he would be contacted within 48 hours about the claim, and that a rental – a boringly ordinary Ford compact – would be delivered to him the next day. He smiled ruefully. Boring, yes, but light and easy enough to drive more or less one-handed. It would do.

He switched to the Lexus site and examined their new model, then sighed and closed the computer – better get the check first. He realised he had had no trouble focussing on the screen for that length of time, although he sensed the beginning of a headache. He lay back and closed his eyes, staying that way until the burning sun edged its way onto the balcony.

He wished he could sunbathe, but his coloring – red hair, white skin, precluded it. He burnt in minutes. He went in to swap shorts for jeans, and to put on a shirt. Feeling immeasurably better than the day before, he hesitated only briefly, before putting the sling back on to support his arm, then making his way downstairs and across the narrow strip of parkland to the beach. The light, glancing off the sea, was dazzling. He missed his sunglasses – he assumed Eric had them. Or they were in the wrecked car. He sighed – something else to sort out tomorrow.

He didn't stay out long. He was, he admitted reluctantly, still a little shaky, a little weak. But not bad… He went back home, lay on the bed, and slept for a couple of hours.

* * *

Eric arrived that evening, bearing a brown paper bag of ingredients.

"Can I use your kitchen?"

Horatio nodded, eyebrows raised.

"I'm going to cook you dinner," he added.

"All right. I'll be on the balcony." Shaking his head in amusement, he went back to his favourite seat.

* * *

"Pollo con quimbombo. Y arroz…." Eric announced.

"Chicken and rice," Horatio grinned. "What's quimbombo? Sounds… kind of rude…"

"Try it." He placed a tray on the table beside Horatio.

Horatio picked up the plate and took a forkful, then nodded his approval. "I didn't know you could cook…"

"Many talents, me. Is it okay?"

"Very okay." Horatio suddenly found he was hungry. "So how come you can cook?"

"What was it you used to say? 'Watch and learn'… I grew up in an all-female household, so there was always cooking going on… I just sort of picked it up - the simple stuff anyway. And it impresses the ladies."

"And the boss."

They ate in silence, then Eric stood and picked up the empty plates. "I didn't get round to dessert…"

"I haven't got room anyway. There's some Ben and Jerry's in the freezer. That do?"

When they had finally finished, and were drinking coffee, Eric said quietly, "Feel better? You _look_ better…"

"I feel good. So… will you pick me up tomorrow? Or are we going to fight?"

Eric chuckled. "No, you look okay, just about. I'll pick you up. We'll see if you can get a confession out of our silent lady."

* * *

Horatio and Eric stood outside the interrogation room, watching their suspect. Horatio had been surprised – he had made the assumption that such a domestic crime would involve, from experience, people in their late twenties or thirties… just time for the gloss to go off a marriage… But the woman sitting there, oblivious of their scrutiny, was in her sixties. She looked quite calm, almost serene.

"How old is she?" Horatio answered his own question, by looking in the file. "Sixty-two…"

"Her husband was sixty-five," Eric added. "Though we got the information from documents at the house, and Social Security… As I said, she hasn't said a word. But the gun was on the bed. He had a single shot to the head…"

"Any chance it was suicide?"

"I don't think so. It was close, but no muzzle-stamp."

"Oh well, let's see if she'll talk to me."

"Do you want to try alone?"

"I think so. Don't worry, I'll record it. Wish me luck…" Horatio took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

He sat down. Martha Pasternak met his eyes and smiled slightly. She didn't look shocked, or shut down. More… content. Even after two nights in lock-up. Horatio studied her. If she wasn't talking, he wasn't in any hurry either.

Finally, he opened the file. "Ma'am… You know we have evidence that you killed your husband. We have the gun, fingerprints, the bullet… What we don't have is a reason…"

She did not reply.

"Ma'am… In a way, it doesn't matter. I've no doubt we can make the case… But a confession from you makes things so much easier – for you. You made no attempt to hide what had happened, so I assume you don't mind us knowing…"

Silence, but she was studying him.

"I think you should talk to me, ma'am."

"What happened to your arm?" She spoke suddenly.

The injured arm, supported now by a black silk scarf, rather than a hospital sling, had almost slipped his mind. "It's broken."

"In… what do you call it? The line of duty?"

"No." Well, at least she was talking. "A car wreck."

"They plated it?"

"Yes. Are you a doctor?" _Go on, answer a question, any question…_

"I was a scrub nurse for twenty years. I saw plenty of broken bones."

She fell silent again.

"Ma'am… Martha… Did you kill your husband?"

Her voice was very quiet. "You know I did. It had to be done."

"Did he abuse you?"

The first sign of animation crossed her face. "Ernie? Abuse me? Never! We were married for thirty-six years, Lieutenant. He was a fine man."

He didn't intend to let her get too comfortable. "Yet you shot him…"

"He was asleep. He knew nothing about it."

"You still haven't told me why."

"It's a private matter."

"Not any more. Martha, you can tell me, and I'll do what I can to help you." _Rash promise, Horatio. _Yet he knew, instinctively, that he wasn't looking at a cold-blooded killer. Whatever her reason, it would be a good one, to her, at any rate. "If you don't, the court process could get quite brutal."

"I'm not afraid of the court, Lieutenant."

He sat in silence, watching her, sensing that she would tell him, in time.

At last she spoke, quietly. "He had Parkinson's… not advanced… we could have managed that, for a while. Then he was diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease. He was a proud man. We always promised each other… No wheelchairs, no dribbling and drooling in public… That if either of us was… afflicted…" She broke off.

"The other would take care of it," Horatio added. He sat back, with a sigh, reaching surreptitiously into his pocket to turn the recorder off.

"I'll take my punishment," she added. "It doesn't frighten me."

"Have you got anyone to post bail? If I can arrange it?" Bail on a murder charge was difficult, but not unheard of.

"I don't want bail, Lieutenant. I'm quite content where I am."

Horatio stood up.

Mrs Pasternak added, with a smile, "You take care of that arm now."

He signalled to an officer to take her back to lock-up, then went out to where Eric still stood watching. "There's your confession."

"That's sad."

"It is. But still murder. The courts might be gentle with her, but, you know what? I don't think she cares. Anyway," He gave himself a mental shake. "Check it out. It might all be lies. Medical records, and tell Tom what to look for. Okay?"

"Okay, boss. So how do you feel?"

"Me? Fine. Absolutely fine…"

THE END


End file.
